Trapped in a Closet
by Copper's Mama
Summary: Chance/Ilsa fic. Pretty self-explanatory ... Please read and review!


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_A Chance/Ilsa fic. _

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_Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Human Target. _

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_A/N: This one is for __**weapon13WhiteFang**__, who requested I write it from a list of prompts. _

_I thought about doing my usual Guerrero/Ames for this one, but decided it would be funnier with these two. _

_I hope you guys like this one, I know I'll love writing it. _

_As always, please read and review, I live for feedback! _

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"What did I say, Ilsa? I'm sure I was pretty clear, wasn't I? I said: 'don't close the door behind you'," Chance repeated, his annoyance showing even in the darkness that they had found themselves trapped in.

"Well, why you would have a self-locking closet is beyond me," she replied scathingly, less-than-pleased with the situation herself.

"It wasn't my idea, it was the guy who lived here before me. I never had to do anything about it before now!" Chance informed her.

"Well, I'm terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you, Mr. Chance. Why don't you just call Mr. Winston and get him to let us out of here?" she suggested.

Chance rolled his eyes. "Probably because my phone is on the coffee table, where I left it. What about you, why don't you call Winston?"

Ilsa sighed in defeat. "My cell phone is downstairs, in my purse."

Chance nodded, shifting his footing. It was fairly tight quarters, especially with two people in the closet. He really needed to consider letting her remodel the upstairs like she'd done the downstairs.

"Well, eventually someone must realize our absence, and come looking for us," Ilsa rationalized. "It's only a matter of time."

Chance was content to allow her to delude herself.

At least an hour passed, and Ilsa's boredom was killing her. She'd begun pounding on the solid door at random intervals, hoping someone would hear her.

"We were the last ones here, Ilsa," Chance reminded her. "No one will be back at least until morning. You might as well get comfortable."

"Easier said than done," she replied, her eyes having adjusted slightly to the dark. It would be easier if the light switch were on the inside of the closet, instead of outside of the door. "What is all of this stuff, anyway?"

"Weapons, mostly," Chance answered, deciding against telling her that she was leaning on a box of explosives - not that they were in any danger of blowing up.

"Goodness, my feet are killing me," she mumbled to no one in particular. She brought her leg up to remove one shoe, but lost her footing almost immediately.

"Careful!" Chance exclaimed, reaching his arm out to stop her fall.

Her balance was off too much, and in the cramped quarters, he couldn't get the right leverage to hold her up, and they both fell to the floor, various objects falling with them.

"Ow!" Ilsa squeaked, landing uncomfortably on the closet floor. Her legs were bent over a box, and she had something jabbing her in the back. She pulled it out from under her, and the movement caused Chance to adjust his position, and then another _hard_ object could be felt. "Oh ... Mr. Chance," she spoke in a soft voice.

Chance blinked, staring down at her in the dark. "Um ... that's a 45mm handgun, Ilsa," he explained. "Not ..."

"Of course not!" she replied quickly, grateful for the lack of light. She would hate for him to have seen her blush. "I didn't think ... that."

Chance grinned at her obvious embarrassment, pulling the weapon out from between them. "Of course you didn't."

"I suppose we should get up," Ilsa suggested, unwilling to admit that despite the angle, she was actually quite comfortable.

"Oh, I don't know," Chance began, not moving off of her. "This seems as good a place as any to spend the night."

Ilsa narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him, able to make out the basic features of his face from his close proximity to her. "Mr. Chance, if I didn't know any better, I might think you were flirting with me."

Chance paused for a breath, meeting her eyes. "Would that be so terrible?"

Ilsa felt a light flutter run through her heart at that question, something she hadn't felt in quite a while. "I wouldn't object to it."

Chance grinned down at her, and then a moment later, slowly began lowering his head. He gave her every opportunity to stop him, before his lips finally settled over hers.

Ilsa gasped at the feeling of his lips, surprised, even though she'd known it was coming. When she felt him pause at her intake of breath, she returned the pressure on his lips, not wanting to dissuade him from continuing.

The kissing began turning into something a bit more involved, and they ended up having to dodge falling objects as the night wore on, and then a different sort of thumping could be heard from the upstairs closet.

Downstairs, Guerrero shook his head at the two of them, having come back for his needle nose pliers and duct tape. After a moment's consideration, he left a note on Winston's desk to grab something from the upstairs closet when he arrived early in the morning, signing Ilsa's name on the bottom. With a final grin, he left the building.

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_The end. _

_Short, but hopefully good. _

_Well, what did you guys think? Like it, hate it? _

_Reviews are appreciated, flame if you must, but constructive criticism is much more useful._

_Until next time ...! _


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